More downloads followed. She sampled days—minor triumphs, embarrassments, farewells. Each file was exacting: sights, scents described in text metadata, even the weather. The Time Machine didn’t alter anything; it simply pulled copies of slices of lived time into her present. For a while it was a comfort. She could replay the conversations she’d missed, the apologies she never made, the moments she’d thought lost.
: The responsibility of a time traveler, the temptation to alter the past, and historical discovery.